So, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls of the Internet. Gather round, for I have a story to tell. It is neither a story of joy or woe. It isn’t anything big, or at least I don’t think it is. But some people on the other hand may think it is. So take a pew and wash out your ears until they are squeaky clean.

Ever since I can remember I have felt off. I have felt out of place. Not right. Never fit in. You name it, that’s how I’ve felt. But I’m not talking about not fitting in on the first day of school, although I didn’t fit in on the first day of school. No, ladies and gents. I have always felt off within my own body. I have always felt uncomfortable. And as I grew up and things began to develop that I didn’t want to develop and things didn’t happen that I longed to happen, it grew into more than just “not fitting in”. I actually despised myself. I couldn’t bear to look at myself in the mirror. “Well, neither can I first thing in the morning” I hear you exclaim. Well human in the fourth row, second from the left- can you not bear to look into the mirror and try to drive the thought out of your head that you want to yell out and tear your skin off in hope that what you feel like underneath will suddenly burst forward and shout “ta-da!”?

No? Well what do I know, maybe you do, lovely lady to my right with sparkling but sad eyes, maybe you do feel like I do. But I would place the .88p I have in my savings account that the majority don’t feel that way, or to that extreme.

In my nearly 25 years on this sometimes deranged planet I have never felt comfortable. I have hated myself since I realised that I was not right. Which was a long time ago. I knew when I was five. Who I was was not right. To me. It took until June 22this year for me to come to the realisation that I had always known deep down.

I realised that I was trapped in this body. This body that is not mine in any way, shape or form. Me? I feel like Superman. With a cloak of deceptiveness wrapped around me. So the Superman (personally I prefer Batman but I feared he wouldn’t work as well in this analogy) that is bursting to go into a phone box, rip open his shirt and step out as who he truly is has finally burst out… so to speak.

When I was born the doctors (probably I can’t personally remember) held me aloft to my mother and father and proclaimed “it’s a girl!” Only that isn’t true Mr or Mrs ‘I spent five years in medical school to just look at a certain part of a human baby and proclaim a gender’. Because although I was “a girl” I have never in the least bit ever, felt a girl. I am a man. Inside and (not) out.

I have always known. I can remember stuffing my precious blankie down my pyjamas fronts, wandering to the bathroom and try to pee standing up. Now, that was a mess. I can remember when I was preparing for my first holy communion (Oi vey) and telling the nun who was teaching us the ways of some guy who may or may not have ever existed that I was a boy. I also remember sneaking off into the boys bathroom then too. Although I had learned that I should use the stall since six years previously. I can also remember vividly the hatred of having to wear that god (hehe blasphemy in a sentence about first holy communion) awful mini wedding dress. I. Hated. It. I absolutely hated it and tore it off the second I could. This was the last time I ever wore a dress. I thankfully was allowed to wear trousers to my secondary school. I also got my hair cut short shortly after. I had the mullet of all mullets but it was short and it felt absolutely amazing. A few years after this I went with my dad to one of his cricket matches and introduced myself to all the away teams boys (and some of their mothers) as Colin. No idea why Colin, whenever I hear the name Colin I think of the dachshund from Blackadder. Anyway my name is not Colin now.

I have always been lucky in a lot of aspects. My voice is naturally deep. I am reasonably tall, and have a muscular “boyish” build and face. And I thank the make believe dude in the sky that I also have a very small chest. So I pass 98 to 99% of the time as my preferred gender… which is male for those of you who haven’t cottoned on yet. I send my heart out to those of you, my brothers and sisters who feel the same as I do who don’t pass easily. I can’t imagine how hard that is.

So that is my introduction to me. I only wanted about 2 paragraphs, instead you have 10. You lucky devils!

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